


Everything's Better with Cake

by Zephyr0



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Childhood Friends, Eventual Fluff, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Swearing, falling-out
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-18
Updated: 2020-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-01 02:13:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,788
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23197633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zephyr0/pseuds/Zephyr0
Summary: Arthur bakes Alfred a cake to prove he is good at baking. Unfortunately, things start going wrong after that.
Relationships: America/England (Hetalia)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 27





	Everything's Better with Cake

Arthur wiped his sweaty brow with his arm, leaving behind a trail of flour. He glanced at the clock and gritted his teeth, his hand tightening around the spoon hard enough his knuckles turned white. Already 7:15 a.m., and he was half an hour behind schedule.

When he finished mixing, he dropped the spoon into the sink, grabbed the bowl, and hurried to the other side of the kitchen. Wrecking the oven door open, he shoved the bowl inside. Slamming the door shut again, he set the cake to bake for fifty minutes, his hands shaking as he did.

 _Okay,_ he thought. 

Sighing, Arthur dropped his forehead against the oven’s door. It felt cold to his skin. He had been up since six, unable to sleep because he was coughing too much and his throat was sore. His eyes stung from a lack of sleep. Standing there for a few moments, he drew in a deep breath, running a hand down his face. His skin felt dry, especially around his nose. His gaze flittered around the kitchen at the cracked eggs on the sink’s edge, the opened cake mixture, the half-empty carton of milk. So much to do. So little time. He should’ve got up at five.

He pushed himself off the oven, cleaning up the kitchen and tossing his rubbish away. Running his tongue over his lips, he noticed they were cracked. His mouth felt like a desert. Tea. He needed tea. Arthur’s head hurt too much and he wanted to go back to sleep. But he had to be at school before the bell rang so he could give Alfred the cake.

Still so much to do.

At least the chocolate icing was done. Alfred loved chocolate icing.

* * *

Arthur took a fast, hot shower. His headache persisted and his eyelids were still heavy, but the steam of the hot water had cleared up his blocked nose, helping him breathe easier. And after his morning tea, his throat didn’t hurt much.

He returned to the kitchen as the oven beeped, signalling that the fifty minutes were up. Grabbing his oven mitts, he wrecked the door open. Smoke oozed out from the oven, making Arthur cough and wave his hand in front of his face.

_This is fine._

He reached inside. The cake looked a little darker than he anticipated, but still. It was fine to eat. Arthur made it, after all. He was good at baking. He was good at cooking.

He could _cook,_ goddamn it! Bake! It didn’t matter what Alfred said behind Arthur’s back! Alfred was _wrong!_ He’d try the cake and he’ll like it! 

And he’ll apologise to Arthur for humiliating him in front of people.

Arthur was aware of the irony behind baking a cake for the same person he was giving the silent treatment to. And while baking a cake wasn’t the same as cooking, Arthur was more confident with his baking skills than his cooking skills. He’d bake Alfred a cake for now, and then when Alfred apologised for that embarrassing cooking competition and apologise for lying to Arthur, Arthur would cook him something. Just to prove he could do both of those things.

Alfred would _have_ to be impressed.

Arthur’s face twisted into a victorious grin as he slathered the chocolate icing on top of the cake. He had another idea to impress Alfred.

So he went to the fridge and took out a cheeseburger, still wrapped in its McDonald’s wrapper. It felt like ice to touch, having sat right at the back at the fridge hidden behind the other food so Arthur’s brothers didn’t notice it. Frost had collected against the paper, but Arthur thought it should still be fine. He did feel a little stupid as he unwrapped the burger and placed it right in the middle of the cake. The cake turned from respectable to outright ridiculous, but knowing Alfred, Arthur knew Alfred would love it because of the burger. Alfred loved three things in life: superheroes, space, and McDonald’s. His taste was completely wrong, but Arthur secretly enjoyed listening to Alfred talk about those things. His voice would become excited, his face would light up, his eyes would start shining.

It was a little addicting, he supposed.

It was a secret he would never tell Alfred. Alfred would just laugh at him.

Arthur made his way to the pantry, grabbing the packet of mini green aliens he picked up yesterday. He ripped the bag open and pushed the aliens into the cake.

Ten minutes later, Arthur stepped back, stifling a laugh. The cake looked so stupid right now. 

But hopefully, Alfred would love it, too. Alfred would apologise, and the two could move on. Arthur’s heart fluttered at the thought of seeing Alfred’s blue eyes light up again, of seeing Alfred’s beautiful smile again. 

* * *

Arthur walked to school, body trembling and stopping to take a deep breath every few seconds. He clutched the cake in his hands, having wrapped it into a brown paper bag. His backpack felt heavy against his back, the straps pressing against his shoulders. Arthur’s throat burned and his head hurt, but he knew he’d have to grit his teeth and pretend there was nothing wrong. He preferred not showing weakness in front of his childhood best friend.

He took a sip of cold water, hoping it would soothe his throat. But he coughed. Arthur shuddered, tasting phlegm at the back of his throat. 

Arthur continued trudging to school. The icy air bit against his school clothes, making his teeth chatter. A few other students walked around, most chatting in pairs or threes, backpacks slung on one shoulder. Arthur ducked away from the students, dumped his backpack into his locker, and then hurried to his favourite spot in the school.

The library was the warmest building on the campus. It had an electric fireplace that crackled near the foyer doors behind where the librarians sat, so the heat radiating through the room. Tables stood scattered around the library, some students sitting at them, heads bent over textbooks, or they whispered to their friends. Arthur made his way to the bookshelves near the back of the room, slipping behind the last shelf that had the comics. He made his way to the popular red beanbag against the wall.

He collapsed into the beanbag, his world spinning for a moment, black dots popping across his vision. Arthur’s skin felt shivery, and he wound his arms around his body. The cake sat next to the beanbag, still wrapped in the bag. Arthur hoped he wouldn’t break out into sweat; he didn’t want Alfred to see him like that. 

Arthur checked his phone. On his way to school, he sent Alfred a message. It had been the first thing he said to Alfred all week, which was funny since Arthur never sent messages. Back when they were still talking, Alfred always complained about Arthur never texting him. But Alfred had left him on read. Arthur gritted his teeth, dropping his head against the wall, staring up at the ceiling. Feeling hot, Arthur forced himself to sit straight, his head swimming at the sudden movement. Wincing, he clutched his head, pulled off his blazer, and rolled up his sleeves. His arm hair stood on end, and he started shivering. 

Arthur touched his face. His cheeks felt hot. A fever?

He sat there for a few more moments, every so often his body breaking out into shudders. The urge to cough rose inside his chest. He kept checking his phone. Still no reply from Alfred. It was getting late. Ten minutes to class. He knew Alfred would drop by soon. Being the superhero fanatic Alfred was, Alfred enjoyed reading comics, and he always came in on Wednesday mornings.

And then, peering over the top of the comics, Arthur’s eyes landed on Alfred entering the library. His heart skipped a beat, and he rose to his feet, staggering a little, gripping the wall to keep his balance. Slumping forward, he pulled the blazer and bag back on, grabbing the cake and clutching it in his hands. His heart thudded as he watched Alfred amble towards the bookshelves, heading towards the comics section.

Alfred froze as he entered it, staring at Arthur. Arthur stared back, his hands shaking. 

The two said nothing, then Alfred clenched his jaw, whirled around, and stomped away.

“Wait.” Arthur hurried after Alfred. But as he did, he stumbled and flew forward. 

The ground raced up to meet him. Arthur hit the ground hard, an “oof!” rushing out of his body. The cake flew from his hands, smacking onto the ground. His heart leaping into his throat, Arthur scrambled for the cake, hands shaking and his chest feeling tight. 

He peered at the cake inside the bag. It lay squashed in the bag, chocolate icing smeared around the plastic container. 

No, no, no! He couldn’t show Alfred this! He had made the cake to prove he _could_ bake! Alfred won’t be impressed with a squashed cake. Arthur scrambled to his feet, watching helplessly as Alfred continued marching out of the library, oblivious to Arthur clutching the ruined cake.

* * *

Sitting next to Alfred in history had been awkward ever since Arthur started giving Alfred the silent treatment. Now Alfred angled his chair away from Arthur, slumped in his chair, sitting at the edge of his desk with a stony look on his face. He had his arms crossed.

It was like Alfred thought Arthur didn’t have a good reason to be angry at Alfred. Arthur did. Arthur loved cooking. He took part in a goddamn cooking contest a few weeks ago. He made some roast and came dead last. Everyone said Arthur’s cooking was awful, except Alfred, who told him it was delicious. Alfred was the one who encouraged him to continue cooking, to enter the bloody contest. Alfred later complaining about how awful Arthur’s cooking to Toris Laurinaitis felt like a betrayal. To have Arthur embarrass himself, just so Alfred could secretly laugh behind Arthur’s back. 

And if there was one thing Arthur hated above anything else, it was being a laughing stock. 

Without the cake, there was no way for Arthur to prove to Alfred that he could bake.

But then again, a lot of things Alfred did not make much sense for Arthur. For example, Alfred thought it was funny to give Arthur a box of chocolates for Valentine’s Day, as a joke. That went down _well,_ of course. The idiot was so thick, he obviously had never realised Arthur fancied him. And when Alfred had practically broke his heart when he announced to everyone else the whole thing was just a joke, Arthur gave him another silent treatment. Unfortunately, that one didn’t last long enough for Alfred to catch on.

Arthur was usually a focused student, but today, he couldn’t just focus on Mr Braginsky. And while Mr Braginsky was a likeable teacher, today his voice sounded like a monotonous drone, and Arthur found his mind clouding over with annoyance. He left the class, feeling a little numb, taking sips of cold water from his bottle, trying to soothe his burning throat. 

Alfred took off without a backward look at Arthur, and Arthur’s irritation grew. He stomped his way to English, and the irritation continued bubbling inside him, the skin on the back of his fists itching as if his body wanted to fight. 

And then Francis Bonnefoy appeared, deciding to annoy Arthur as Arthur was shoving his books into his locker. Arthur snapped at Francis to piss off. Francis laughed in response. So Arthur slugged him in the face, without hesitation.

And before Arthur knew it, he was sitting in a chair in front of the headmaster’s office. 

* * *

Arthur did not think his day could get any worse when he found himself in detention, being forced to sit next to Alfred. 

The two lads were the only two in detention, sitting in silence in the geography classroom. Miss Héderváry sat at the desk, typing on her laptop. She told them she didn’t mind if they worked on homework, as long as they were silent. 

As for Alfred, Arthur guessed he must’ve landed himself in detention for not doing some homework. Or maybe he interrupted one too many times in some class. Or showed up late. Trouble seemed to follow Alfred wherever he went.

So Arthur passed the time working on his maths homework, frowning down at his textbook and frowning with confusion. Alfred glared out of the window, tapping his pencil against the table. Irritation rose back inside Arthur. He clenched his fist tight over his own pencil to resist the urge to snatch Alfred’s from his hand and toss it to the other side of the classroom.

Miss Hédeváry continued typing. 

Arthur’s pencil snapped, wooden shards and granite shavings raining down onto his work. There were a lot of angry marks and leftover black marks, where Arthur kept rubbing out his answers over and over. Sighing, he reached into his pencil case to retrieve another pencil.

 _Shit_. That was his last pencil. All he had left was pens. And considering Arthur’s poor maths skills, the last thing he wanted to use were pens when he couldn’t rub out his mistakes. 

He jabbed his hand into the air. It took Miss Hédeváry a few seconds to notice, and when she did, she nodded at Arthur to speak.

“Miss, may I please borrow a pencil?”

Miss Hédeváry shook her head. “Sorry, Mr Kirkland. I don’t have one.” She glanced at Alfred. “You can ask Mr Jones for one.”

Arthur stiffened. The last thing he wanted to do was ask Alfred for a pencil. But before he could reply to that, Miss Hédeváry turned her attention to Alfred. “I thought you were in detention for not completing your Spanish homework, Mr Jones.”

Alfred shrugged and pouted, continuing to glare out of the window. 

Miss Hédeváry’s eyes narrowed. “Well, if you’re just going to sit there wasting your time…” She trailed off, her voice growing sharp. “You might as well lend Mr Kirkland a new pencil.”

Alfred huffed, smacking his pencil down on Arthur’s desk.

“And cut the attitude, Mr Jones!”

Alfred continued to ignore her. 

After a moment, Arthur just took Alfred’s pencil. He glanced at Alfred in the corner of his eye. Alfred bounced his leg and strummed his fingers against the desk. Huffing, Arthur turned back to his maths homework, doing his best to try completing it. 

When the hour finished, both lads took off, without a word to each other. Fuming, Arthur stomped to his locker to retrieve his bag.

On his way home, his heart felt heavy and his vision was blurry and there was a new ache in his throat. 

* * *

“He’s acting like a huge pain in the arse.” Arthur slumped over in the chair, rubbing his eyes. They still hurt from a lack of proper sleep. He swore his throat hurt more today, almost to the point it hurt talking. 

Kiku looked up from his Switch. The two sat at the back of the library, in the same corner Arthur was in yesterday in the comics section. The bright light of his fighting game illuminated from the console. 

“You should just talk to him,” Kiku said. 

Arthur snorted. “Why should I talk to him? He’s the one who lied to me.”

Kiku frowned. “What do you mean? Alfred said nothing about him lying to you.”

No surprise there. Arthur supposed it was a danger of speaking to a mutual friend the two shared. But it’s not like Arthur had anyone else to tell. He didn’t have anyone, aside from Alfred and Kiku. Alfred had plenty of friends. But why did Alfred have to confide with _Kiku?_

Being rather socially awkward, Arthur struggled to make friends. It didn’t help he was also more of a loner type, not wanting to deal with the inevitable pain that came with an imminent falling out. 

Unfortunately, Arthur feared he and Alfred were finally heading in that direction. 

“He talks about me?” Arthur asked. 

Kiku nodded, his face neutral. “He always does.”

Arthur frowned. He supposed that was normal since Arthur and Alfred were best friends (well, before the whole lying thing). But the implication that Alfred was still talking to Kiku about Arthur was a little surprising. 

But then again, he was probably just ranting about Arthur. 

“You should talk to him,” Kiku repeated. 

“Then why can’t he talk to me?” Arthur clenches his fists. 

“He doesn’t know what to talk about.”

“Well, he could start by explaining why he lied.”

“It’s because he likes you.”

“Of course he likes me.” Arthur ran his hand through his hair, pulling at a few strands. “We’re friends. Apparently.”

Kiku gave Arthur a frustrated look but said nothing. 

* * *

With all the hostility that simmered between Arthur and Alfred, it wasn’t surprising when it finally exploded. 

In Arthur’s defence, he was angry, and he had a blistering headache. 

Things started taking a turn for the worse during history. Again. Alfred tripped and bumped into Arthur from behind. Arthur snapped at him to watch where he was going. Alfred snapped back. Mr Braginsky snapped at them to behave. Both lads huffed as they made their way to their allocated seats, sitting as far away as possible from each other. 

Things got even worsen when Mr Braginsky decided to put the students into pairs to work on an activity together. So he ended up pairing Arthur up with Alfred. He probably assumed that the two were still best friends, despite their argument. 

“You gotta be joking,” Alfred muttered, shaking his head. 

Arthur balled his fists and glared at Alfred. “Okay.” With another huff, he scooted his chair closer to Alfred’s desk, slamming his worksheet onto Alfred’s desk. “You can answer the questions about the Holocaust, and I’ll answer the questions about the atomic bomb.” He pointed at each subset of questions as he spoke. 

“No, I want to do the atomic bomb.” Alfred glared back at Arthur. 

How did Arthur fancy this prat, again? “Are you kidding?” Arthur scoffs. “Do the Holocaust questions. They’re easier!”

“The fuck does that mean?”

“Maybe you will know if you’re head isn’t full of just superheroes, space, and McDonald's-”

 _“What?”_ Alfred slammed a hand onto the desk.

“Lads!” Mr Braginsky glared at them from the front of the class. The other students looked over, most wearing amused looks, whilst others frowned. “Enough, right now!”

“Sorry, sir,” both lads said in unison. As they did, they both shot another glare at the other. 

“If you can’t behave, I will send you to the headmaster. Do you understand?” Mr Braginsky’s glare shifted into one of his infamous grins. A sense of dread rolled over Arthur, and he shivered. 

“Yes, sir,” both said, their voices shaky. This time, neither acknowledged the other. 

“Good.” The sinister grin turned into a friendly one. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief, his muscles relaxing, but the prickle of annoyance continued.

“Fine, you do what you want.” Arthur crossed his arms, leaning back in his chair. 

Alfred sneered. “Thank you.”

“How fitting. Having manners when you’re being a prat.”

“Excuse me?”

“What, you deaf now?” Arthur sneered back. 

Alfred let out a breath. “You’re being really unfair.”

“Me? Unfair?” Arthur let out a hollow laugh. “At least I’m not a liar like you!”

 _“Liar?”_ Alfred stared at him, incredulous. “I can’t believe you right now!”

“Oh yeah? Why don’t you-”

“Lads!”

* * *

And that was how Arthur landed yet _another_ detention, _with Alfred again._

He felt a little sorry for Miss Hédeváry, who was supervising their detention yet again after school. She gave them both a weary look. Alfred, at least, had the manners to at least look a little apologetic. 

“You know what?” she said, as they entered the art studio behind her. “Why don’t you two just spend the hour working out your differences?” She paused, frowning, hands on her hips. “Seriously, weren’t you two friends or something? All the other teachers told me you two were always inseparable.”

Alfred scoffed. “Say that to _him._ He’s the one with a problem! For no goddamn reason!”

 _“Excuse me?”_ Arthur whirled around to face him, raising his fist. “My problem is that you lied!”

“Lied about what?” Alfred got close up to Arthur’s face. Both of their bodies had tensed up, and they stood hunched over, as if ready to swing fists. 

“What, you pretending you can’t read the atmosphere so you can avoid the consequences of your actions?”

“The fuck-”

“Lads! Enough!” Miss Hédeváry shoved a hand between them, keeping them separated. “Sit down and listen to what each of you has to say.” She crossed her arms. “If I weren’t a teacher, I would wallop you both in the face right now. So stop acting like some bickering old married couple, and just talk to each other! Respectfully!”

Alfred sneered. Arthur snorted.

Miss Hédeváry glared at them both, then stalked over to the desk. She sat down, rapping her fingers against the desk.

Arthur huffed, sitting down in a chair. His stomach felt tight, his heart thumping hard. Alfred made his way to the opposite side of the room, sinking down in the chair with slumped shoulders. 

“Sit together.” Miss Hédeváry leaned forward, clenching her jaw. “I want you two to figure out your differences and stop this immaturity.”

Arthur huffed, again. Alfred shot him a glare. Neither moved.

“Well, one of you is gonna have to get up.”

“Fine, I’ll do it.” Alfred stood, stomping over to the empty desk next to Arthur. He dropped onto the chair, fists balled. Arthur crossed his arms and legs, and turned his head away. 

“Now, I want you lads to talk to each other.” 

Arthur wished Miss Hédeváry could just drop it. Alfred snorted in response, his body as tense as Arthur’s as he shifted forward, shooting another glare at Arthur. 

Arthur returned Alfred another glare.

“Maybe start with an apology?” The displeased look still wasn’t gone from her face.

“Sorry for doing literally nothing wrong,” Alfred muttered.

“Are you serious?” Arthur’s fingers itched to throttle Alfred. Instead, he settled for jabbing his finger at Alfred. “This is all your fault!”

“You’re being fucking ridiculous!” Alfred slammed his hand on the desk and leapt to his feet.

“Lads! I said apologise and stop fighting!”

They both backed down at Miss Hédeváry’s voice. She stood with her hands on her hips. Alfred sunk back into his chair.

“Now, let’s start at the top. Apologise. Stop arguing.”

“Sorry.” Alfred crossed his arms, his head turned away from Arthur.

Arthur snorted at Alfred’s poor manners. “Sorry.”

“Good. We’re all good now? Just do your homework now.”

Arthur cracked open his textbook. Alfred started working on his homework. Neither of the two paid each other any attention. Time crawled by. Miss Hédeváry typed on her laptop. The sound of her clattering keys filled the silence of the room. The anger that was bubbling in Arthur’s chest died down a little, leaving a hollow feeling in his stomach. His hand shook as he clutched the pencil, and he looked at Alfred at the corner of his eye.

Alfred stared down at his workbook, chewing the back of his pen as his eyes scanned the page. Arthur looked away before Alfred could notice him watching, returning to his work.

A few minutes later, Alfred tore out a page and wrote something down. And then he shoved it onto Arthur’s desk.

Arthur picked up the note, frowning down at Alfred’s poor handwriting:

_Come with me after this finishes._

Arthur’s hands tightened over the note. He glanced at Alfred in the corner of his eye again. Alfred was going through his homework again, not paying attention to Arthur. Arthur looked back at the note, his heart doing a flip. 

No. Don’t hope. Best not to hope, don’t get hurt.

He still hated the hope that rose inside of him. He missed Alfred. Even though it had only been a week, he missed Alfred chatting to him about whatever he wanted. Whether it was superheroes or movies or aliens or space or archaeology or McDonalds, Arthur missed it. He missed Alfred’s smiling. Hell, he even missed their friendly teasing and jabs and stupid jokes Alfred came up with, like randomly buying Arthur a bouquet of flowers because he thought Arthur’s face looked hilarious whenever he did so.

There was a dull ache in his chest and he looked away from Alfred, swallowing hard, his throat feeling tight. His fingers continued tightening around the note, until he noticed he was scrunching it into a ball.

Flattening out the note, he flipped it around to the other side and wrote back to Alfred: _I’ll come with you._ He passed it back to Alfred, who snatched it from his hand, not in a friendly way.

Arthur took a sharp intake of breath. Alfred’s jaw was clenched as he read Arthur’s message. He avoided eye contact with Arthur as he shoved the note back into his book.

Arthur was tired of fighting. He missed Alfred. He wanted his best friend back.

“Good work, you two.” Miss Hédeváry stood up at the end of the hour. She grabbed her laptop and left the class, without a backwards glance.

Arthur turned towards Alfred, expectedly. Alfred’s jaw was clenched. He rose to his feet, shoulders tense, not giving Arthur a backwards glance as he moved towards the door.

Arthur frowned at him. Did he for-

“You coming?” Alfred’s voice sounded hard.

Still not a good sign. Maybe he had been wise not to hope, after all. Hope led to sadness and grief on Arthur’s end. But he still rose to his feet, legs shaky, following Alfred out of the classroom.

Alfred sped-walked down the corridor. Arthur hurried after him, clenching his books to his chest. Neither spoke. The corridor was abandoned, students long gone home. The only sound was the clapping of their shoes on the grubby tiles, stained with bits of food. 

They left the building, stepping onto a footpath leading to the car park. A few of the younger students hung around some trees near the car park, bags dumped on the grass, waiting for their parents to come pick them up. The wind felt gentle but cold against Arthur’s face. The sky was overcast. He shivered, drawing his blazer closer across his body.

A few seconds later Alfred whirled around, his hands clenched into fists. Arthur noticed they were trembling. “What is your issue?” 

Even though he knew it was foolish to hope, Arthur’s heart still sank. 

“Well?” Alfred took a step closer, looking even angrier.

“My issue?” Arthur crossed his arms. “I don’t have an issue! _You’re_ the one with an issue! You could just apologise for lying, and everything will be fine.”

“You serious right now?” Alfred looked agitated, throwing fists around the air, as if ready to punch something. “You’ve been giving me the silent treatment for a whole week! For no goddamn reason!”

“I _do_ have a reason!” Arthur raised his own fists. The sadness seemed to drain away from him, replacing it with anger. It rose inside his chest, making his hands shake, his breathing to turn raggedy. “You lied to me!”

“About what?”

“You know what!”

“No, I don’t!” Arthur heard a crack in Alfred’s voice, but in his building anger, he didn’t care. “I fucking hate it when you act like this! You just expect me to know whatever is just going on inside your head! Well, guess what, Arthur? I can’t read your fucking mind!”

“You don’t need to read my mind to know you lied to me! Just admit it already!”

 _“Are you fucking serious right now?”_ Alfred ran his hands through his hair. 

Arthur got closer to Alfred, so they stood only a couple inches apart. “Just apologise already! I’m sick of this!”

“Well, I am, too!” Alfred shoved him. Arthur staggered backwards but didn’t fall over. 

Arthur sprang forward, giving Alfred a shove of his own. “You’re a wanker!”

“You’re a piece of shit!” Alfred shoved him back, this time harder. Arthur stumbled, waving his arms around, almost losing his balance.

When he recovered, without hesitating, Arthur reared his arm back and sent a fist flying straight at Alfred’s face.

Alfred’s eyes widened and he ducked. Arthur’s fist swung at empty air. Alfred lunged, crashing into Arthur, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s waist. The two fell backwards, crashing to the ground. Arthur’s head smacked against the ground hard, hard enough his teeth slammed together and his darkness crashed over his vision.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please don't forget to leave a comment or kudos. It's been a while since I engaged with anything Hetalia-related, so I feel a bit rusty writing these two characters. 
> 
> Also, just as a head's up, some things will be explained in the next chapter, so if something doesn't make much sense, then it'll probably be explained later.


End file.
